


The Cook

by Chubbycubby



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 09:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubbycubby/pseuds/Chubbycubby
Summary: Being a cook comes with very few perks, but you're willing to make the most of them.





	1. Chapter 1

Today is so miserably awful that your only solace is that the man interrogating you is fine as fuck. Otherwise, today has been pretty shit, considering you’re sitting in a dim room with no clock, a steel door, and a one-way mirror, patiently recounting the exact moment of your demise to said man.

 

“Hold on,” he says, “Why the _fuck_ do you have a visitor’s badge?” and suddenly he stands up, “Who did this?” he shouts at the mirror, “We _just_ had a bre-”

 

“Excuse me! Excuse me! HEY!” you shout out, and the man whirls around in indignation, “I got fired. I didn’t get to that yet.”

 

“Oh,” and Commander Reyes sits back down with quiet embarrassment, “Anyways, you were saying, the paperwork for a ‘Knife Drop’ was filled out, that being a procedure of accounting for discarding broken or unusable knives,” he says glancing over his notes, “So you had to take it to the dumpster by midnight, which is why my agent and I found you by the dumpster at 0017. I thought that was the end of the story.”

 

“I guess the part that’s relevant to you, anyways,” you say, “You were escorting me when it happened anyways.”

 

“That guy who handed you that paper on the way up here… that was your boss.”

 

“He was firing me via a note and this badge,” you say, still in numb shock at how quickly this night went south.

 

“Why?” he asks out of personal curiosity.

 

“Because… you’re only supposed to do a Knife Drop with two people, so I guess one of you can’t steal the knife or something. But you can’t have less than two people in the kitchen and only three of us work at night, so… I violated protocol.”

 

“But… if you hadn’t done it, you would’ve been fired because… some other bullshit,” Gabe says, waving his hand in the air. The man is rather lax for a commander. Even if it is midnight, it seems weird that he’s wearing a hoodie and a bulletproof vest while the rest of the command staff wears crisp dress uniforms.

 

“More or less,” you say with the most defeated shrug.

 

Gabe looks at you, looks at the door, when he glances back, you swear he winks, “Let me try something.”

 

Jack watches you inside the interrogation room, eyes still fixed on you when Gabe exits.

 

“One, our little friends at Sodexo that run the cafeteria? We should be looking into them. They’re apparently skimming on staff, probably to make an extra buck.”

 

“Unacceptable,” Jack replies, “I’ll send someone to go over their records with a fine tooth comb, and if they don’t find anything, I will.”

 

“Secondly, I’ve been looking for a chef,” Gabe says, gesturing to generate input on the idea of you.

 

“Sir,” Amélie interjects, “There is a difference between a chef and a cook. A cook knows the steps, but does not have the knowledge and creativity to make a menu.”

 

Gabe turns on his heel to face her dead on, “Well personally, Amélie, I am really tired of TV dinners, having leftovers for days or not having enough food to begin with. She would be able to figure that out, don’t you think?”

 

Ana intervenes, “It sounds like you already have your mind made up, so don’t ask us for input.”

 

Gabe gives her a grim smile, but turns away before the moment gets anymore tense, and reenters the interrogation room.

 

“So what’re you gonna do?” Gabe asks you as he closes the door, “Like do you have another gig lined up?”

 

You shake your head, “No, this was pretty sudden, and I don’t have my phone in here to contact anyone...”

 

“Because there’s a private cooking job available on this base. Cooking for ten people, including yourself, every day. You already have the security clearances and finger printing, I would just need you to sign the appropriate paperwork that says you can’t leak any secrets, yada yada.”

 

“Will I be able to keep living on the Gibraltr base?”

 

“Yes but,” Gabe replies, “you get to live with us.”

 

“Whose us?”

 

“Can’t say,” he says with a grimace, because it’s difficult to persuade civilians to jump feet first into something like this.

 

“So like…” you look around the room with suspicion, “A special unit...” and then with narrow eyes, “...prisoners…?”

 

Gabe nods, impressed with how neatly you had backed him into a corner to force out information. Silence may have implied a horrible crime, so Gabe says, “The former.”

 

“Intelligence maybe, cause it’s a secret,” you ponder out loud.

 

“I think you would do well with us,” Gabe says, head still bobbing with the pleasant surprise that you were quick about things, “You know I was a cook in high school, and I bet the industry hasn’t changed in the twenty-odd years since then. It’s brutal out there, but we’d treat you fairly. Same medical, dental, vision, mental, you name it, it’ll be paid for. I think your base pay works out to be… sixteen? an hour, but you’re working twenty-four seven, and you get three hundred percent hazard pay if you come in the field with us because you’re going to be a noncombatant. You do the math.”

 

Money… real money you could live off of. Real food in the apartment, real clothes on your body, and a real retirement fund... It’d just be like working on a cruise ship, really, go in for as long as you can and live off the fat for years to come… This job wouldn’t be easy, you can tell that from the pay, but the thought of finally making ends meet cleared every other obstacle off the table.

 

Training every day? Sure!

Secrecy clauses? Yep!

Shared living quarter? Nothing new!

 

“I just want to make something clear, though,” Gabe says, “I was in the US military for twelve years. I have had enough crappy food for a lifetime, and if that isn’t bad enough, you have two French people on your team. Poor quality of the food is the biggest factor in starting a prison riot, so if you’re cooking isn’t up-to-snuff, you’re out.”

 

You nod, “This is going to be a huge change for me, but I think with all my experience I can adjust to the new environment.”

 

Gabe laughs a little, “Cooks always interview well, so I hope I’ve got the right feeling about you.”

 

“I can assure you, you do!” you say earnestly.

 

“You’re enthusiastic. I like that…” he blushes when his gaze falls on you a little too long, “But think on it. I have your files so I know where you’re located on base. If you will agree to it, I will be there at nine to talk about this job more.”

 

“Can I still stay in my apartment?” you ask softly.

 

“You’re a civilian; you get twenty-four hours to vacate,” Gabe says, “I can’t have you stay with us until you get all the paperwork signed, and frankly, my day started twenty-six hours ago.”

 

“Oh no, that’s okay! Uh… Can I ask you a question to prevent any time wasting?”

 

“Sure, but until you sign the paperwork, I might not be able to tell you much.”

 

“Is there… a drug test?”

 

Gabe laughs fully, “Absolutely not,” and to your bewildered expression he adds, “We do things by our own rules. Don’t get the idea that you’re going to have the freedom for recreation whenever you want, though.”

 

“Right, understandable,” you say, “You have some wiggle room but don’t try to do a whole lot of wiggling.”

 

Gabe gestures in elation, “Yes! Yes, you get it. I try to make it so simple, and sometimes I think I’m going nuts because some people make that so hard… You would do _great_ in Blackwatch.”

 

So that’s what that patch on his armor said… It gave you something to go on at least, so that when you finally get to the apartment, you have something to google while you fill in the roommate. You had failed to mention the job offer, just to be safe. Google hadn’t yielded anything relevant for “black watch” or “Blackwatch”, but it _had_ shown you a lot of _fictional_ Blackwatch’s which were all special Black Ops Units, which begged the question: “what does black ops mean”

 

A black operation (or black ops) is a covert operation by a government, military organization, or private company. Key features of a black operation are that it is secret and it is not attributable to the organization carrying it out.

 

What the fuck. Overwatch is doing that then? You back out of the browser and delete the history, as if that would actually save you from the revelation you just had. On the other hand... maybe a black operation isn’t so bad because s _ome_ things had to be secret, right?

 

“Girl!”

 

You jolt back to reality, and say apologetically, “Sorry, I was thinking about this new gig I was offered… I’m not sure I can handle it.”

 

“Pft,” Chantal laughs, “Come on. That’s how half the jobs go. You’re totally under-qualified, and no one can train you. You’re in the weeds for like three months until you figure out everything and then its smooth sailing until some other crisis hits the kitchen. I dunno,” and she shrugs to punctuate the practicality of her nonplussed attitude.

 

“I’ve done way worse for worse pay...” you say. Healthcare, good pay, a handsome boss that you could constantly check out, all enough to give a cook sweet dreams for the night.


	2. The First Day is the Easiest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all downhill after the tax paperwork.

You never mind being knee deep in hiring paperwork because you know full well the first day is the easiest.

 

Commander Reyes is nearing the end of his stack, “This form states that you will not report to work if you have norovirus, non- nontyphoidal salmonella…?”

 

You fill it in, “E coli, hepatitis A, nontyphiodal salmonella, salmonella typhi, norovirus, or shigella. And I won’t show up to work if I have jaundice, nausea, etcetera etcetera…”

 

“Wow, you really know you’re stuff,” Gabe says, feeling more confident in his impulsive decision to hire you.

 

You stop yourself from saying “not really”, “I have my ServSafe. You said that you were a cook once? Where?” you ask as you sign off on every minutiae of HAACP your promised to follow.

 

“I wasn’t really a cook,” he says bashfully, “I worked at an In-N-Out.”

 

You shrug, “Still counts. I’m sure that was a fun gig.”

 

“To be honest, I worked there for three weeks, quit, and joined The Marines, well, SEP,” Gabe says.

 

“Still counts,” you say as you initial the last page, although you have no idea what SEP is.

 

Really, Gabe has no reason to believe that you’ll work out for Blackwatch. He has not seen your work ethic, has no idea what physical condition you’re in, and he’s never ate your food. The pressure to be vindicated was there, and you did everything to ease his mind, or at least capture his heart.

 

“Well, that’s all the paperwork,” Gabe says, tossing the sheets into the scanner for the digital file, “That only took… an hour and a half.”

 

You stretch in your chair, twisting around to crack your back. Gabe’s eyes follow you as you stand, giving him a contented demeanor, until you nervously sit down again and say, “I apologize. I thought we were done.”

 

Gabe snaps out of his trance, “We are, sorry,” and stands, “Let’s go outside and I’ll introduce you to the team and show you around,” and he circles his desk to lead you out to the main room in building H-7.

 

At the far corner of the Gibraltar base, passed the labs, hangars, and storage units was a large, plain building labeled H-7 with very few doors and only very high, narrow windows. Inside was spacious, even though the warehouse being subdivided into all manner of rooms. On the left side of the building was a communal lounge, the weight room, a small armory, and Gabriel’s office in the far corner. The infirmary lined the entire back wall, making it the largest single room besides the open space. On the other side were the bedrooms, the kitchen, and the dining room, or at least that’s what the signs up above the doorways would have you believe.

 

“I believe they’re lifting right now, or they _should_ be,” Gabe says, glancing over his shoulder at you as he leads the way. You smile and nod, and Gabe turns back to shake off the flutter in his stomach. There was no call for that; he’s known you for not even forty-eight hours. For all he knows, you could be an asshole, or a kleptomaniac. He has full faith in you, of course, but why?

 

Gabe opens the door to the gym and let’s you walk in first. There’s more equipment than you can shake a stick at, and more eyes one you than you’d care to admit. One enthusiastic man is bolting to your side of the gym, but the rest finish their sets before forming a crowd.

 

“Howdy miss,” the first man says, having already seized you hand and shook it before you’ve even processed the word “howdy” being used in the year 2058, “Name’s Jesse McCree.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” you reply politely.

 

“My name is Nadège,” a woman says, taking your hand next, “You and I will be rooming together. Good to meet you,” then she gestures to a tall blonde in the back of the room, “Amélie and I are snipers.”

 

“Salut,” the woman offers, but she makes no further effort to be friendly.

 

“I’m Gerard, her wife, and an expert in explosives,” a man by the leg press says with a nod..

 

A stocky Indian woman raises her hand, “Shreya. Mechanic, engineer, plumber, electrician, you name it, I do it.”

 

“Dr. Moira O’Deorain,” and that woman shakes your hand, “I have two phD’s, one in genetics, and another in neurosurgery. I work with Dr. Nguyen, who has a phD in general practice, and Masters in nutrition and psychology.”

 

“I look forward to working alongside you,” the elder doctor says as bows slightly to you. You return the gesture in kind, and then turn your attention to the only person still lifting since you entered the room. You look around in that freshman paranoia that maybe this is a joke, a prank, the beginning of some arcane hazing ritual that was going to haunt your life forever.

 

“Genji! Introduce yourself!” Gabe barks.

 

The rhythm of the weights remains unchanged, but you know his name now, so you suppose that’s mission accomplished. You can see another swell of anger rising in Gabriel so you intervene with pleasantries.

 

“I can’t wait to make all you birthday cakes!”

 

CLANK! Genji stands up and swivels around, looking something dangerous behind that visor, saying with a heavy accent and dark humor, “Anything?”

 

“Yeah,” you say, “You name it; I’ll make it.”

 

Genji’s movements are suddenly watery and relaxed, his voice shifted from threatening to gentle, “My birthday is on Friday, and I would really like a waterdrop cake.”

 

Gabe immediately interjects, “Is he being an asshole? Is that hard?”

 

Two questions, two different answers. For one, you’re fairly certain Genji is being an asshole, but. Two, water drop cakes were not that hard. The general public might think it wizardy, but it’s basically Jell-O. On the off-chance this guy was being nice and genuine, you’d give him exactly what he wanted and he’d be grateful. But, if he _was_ being an asshole, he would get his comeuppance in the form of a totally tasteless birthday cake.

 

“No, no,” you wave it off, “And what would like to eat for dinner?”

 

“Sushi,” he says, very, very flatly, obviously a challenge, meant to test your mettle from the get go.

 

Gabe retorts, “Now, I _know_ you’re being an asshole.”

 

“I can do that,” you say because fuck this guy, fuck his challenge, fuck his visor, his face, his red tubes, and stupid hair. This Friday, you were gonna do what you did best: channeling all of your personal problems into a shift, and then slaying service as a form of therapy, and you were gonna show him. Or, if he’s just not good at first impressions, make him extremely happy.

 

Gabe can’t help but admire the steel you have to meet Genji’s burning stare with such confidence. He had suspected the team would want to test you, but he had hoped it wouldn’t beso quick. Genji is metaphorically touching the tripwire, a slight breeze was liable to set him off. You weren’t supposed to be this cool and collected about the confrontation, and every passing second makes everything very tense.

 

You don’t know what the dynamic at play here is, but, you politely inquire, “How old will you be?” to keep the conversation light.

 

Hell, that was damn near a hurricane, and the whole room holds their collective breath waiting for Genji to respond.

 

“Twenty-four,” he says sternly. He turns away, back to the weight machine, having had enough of other people for one day.

 

Everyone is looking around, and you’re pretty sure you did something wrong, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to ask.

 

Awkward silence prevails until Gerard cuts it with a question: “When will she start training?”

 

“Tomorrow at 0500 sharp, she’ll be joining us for a morning run,” Gabe replies, giving you a confident smile and a pat on the back.

 

Nadège laughs, “Does not look like she t’ought she would run wit’us!”

 

You want to get along with your roommate but you don’t want to talk about your lack of enthusiasm for running at 5AM, and then working after that, so you just smile. That’s all the first day ever is, paperwork and fake smiles so no one thinks you’re a bitch.

 

“Sir, I would like some time to show her the kitchen,” Dr. Nguyen says respectfully.

 

“Yes, yes,” Gabe says, then addressing you “Right now, we rotate the responsibility for cooking, but Dr. Nguyen has been planning the menus and doing the grocery shopping. You will accompany him on a grocery trip while Gerard and I move your belongings from the Overwatch end of the base, to this side of the base,” he turns back to the crowd, “The rest of you, laps til lunch, let’s _go_!”

 

“Please, call me Thao,” the elder gentleman says with a warm smile, swiftly guiding you away from all that exercise, “I am very pleased to meet you. We have needed someone to help us for a long time, so it is good you are here.”

 

“Thank you!”

 

Thao goes on, “I just do not want you to get the idea with some people not being talkative, or like Nadège with her teasing. We want you here very badly; we are just an odd bunch.”

 

“It’s the first day, and things are bound to come across strangely.”

 

“That is a great attitude to have! You and I will get along so well!

 

“Well that’s good, if you’re planning all the menus,” you say.

 

“Oh no… no…” he replies, waving his hand, “We will discuss the menus together, but in the past, cooks always say ‘this is cheaper’; ‘this is easier’; ‘I don’t like this’; so I give you guidelines, and we discuss them. I only plan exact menus if someone is injured or immunocompromised.”

 

“Oh, okay,” you say, with a facade of amity covering your panic at not only having to cook, but now train, plan a menu, and shop for it, every day for as long as you work here.

 

“I have tomorrow’s menu planned out though,” he says, “so we will shop for that today. Every Monday and Thursday we will meet to discuss the meals you are planning. Tomorrow, we will plan all the meals through Monday, and we will go to the store again. I will work with you, but eventually the responsibility will be solely yours.”

 

A small tension releases from your chest. You think you’ve already found The Golden Coworker. The person who just gets you, helps you out, and in general is your mentor. From the deepest part of your heart, you say, “Thank you so much. That’s a relief to hear.”

 

“You’re worried? Why? Commander likes you; you didn’t pick a fight with Genji, or Nadège! I like you. I want you to stay,” he says, “That’s more votes yes than most people have here.”

 

“Do people not get along?”

 

“Uh-” Thao is at the dining room door, “I will tell you more on that subject later. This,” he opens the door, “is the dining room.”

 

Never mind the subject change, here was a room scarcely bigger than the table it held. There was enough space to move behind the chairs easily, of course, but it seems so claustrophobic now, you can’t imagine it with ten people packed inside. You wonder if everyone has particular places they usually sit… and where you would fit in. Curious, there are ten people in Blackwatch now, but twelve chairs around the table…

 

“And through these doors is the kitchen. There’s another door in the kitchen that goes to the outside. I pull the SUV up to it to unload groceries.”

 

“Oh awesome,” you say, “I’m ready to see the kitchen!”

 

As soon as you walk you you murmur, “Wow...” and Thao thinks it’s because you’re impressed. The things hanging from the ceiling, under the six-foot prep table, in the shelf above the sink, all a damn wreck, in no kind of order. If the plates for service were kept in four different places for no discernible reason, you won’t be able to find shit in this kitchen for a month.

 

“Good to hear you like it!”

 

“Wow…” you say. The commercial dish machine was on its last leg about a year ago. Now, this thing was 3% zip-tie, 45% limescale build-up, 30% duct tape, 13% mildew, 9% funky odor, and 100% on the verge of collapse. You’ve done some dishwasher shifts in your time so hopefully that qualifies you to figure out this mess.

 

“It’s some of our nicer equipment here, actually.”

 

“Wow...” if this is nice, what the fuck does the rest of it look like? The walk-in cooler was spacious, but no one had cleaned it in a _minute._ The shelves were mostly bare of food except some produce that needed dealt with immediately. The walk-in freezer had a box of fries so iced in it looked like an archaeological find, and its shelves were strewn with half-open boxes.

 

“How do you like it?” he asks.

 

Chucking a bag of mushy celery into the garbage on your way out from the cooler, you say unirnoically, “I’m already calling it home.”

 

This kitchen was going to be your best friend or your worst enemy, and you would need to put in a lot of time to make it the former. Not that everything was an uphill battle. The other fixtures were in decent repair, and all of the dishes were scrubbed cleaned. It was clear that those who took care of tings didn’t have professional restaurant experience, but also that they had done their best. You would just have to fill in the rest.

 

“I’m not sure if Commander explained the schedule to you,” Thao says as you begin rooting through drawers to take a vague stock.

 

“No, he didn’t,” you reply before going back to rummaging.

 

“At 5AM, we begin training. The first part of training is usually running, stretching, basic things. At 7AM, you are dismissed at the commander’s order, and I cannot stress enough you must ask before you leave,” and Thao corrects himself, “at least at first.”

 

“Ask before I leave, got it.”

 

“At 7:30, the rest of us will arrive in the dining room. We eat breakfast and go back out at 8AM for weight training. You join us fifteen minutes later. At 10:30, you leave, and at 11:45 we eat again, leaving at 12:30. This is where it gets complicated.”

 

“Should I be writing this down?” you ask, standing up straight.

 

“I was looking for the schedule Commander wrote you,” he says, handing you a paper he had finally found tucked in his pocket, “Here it is!”

 

0500 – 0700 – TRAIN

0700 – 0730 – COOK BREAKFAST

0730 – 0800 – EAT

0800 – 0815 – CLEAN UP

0815 – 1030 – TRAIN

1030 – 1145 – COOK LUNCH

1145 – 1230 – EAT

1230 – 1245 – CLEAN UP

1245 – 1400 – TRAIN, (M,Th) MEET W DR

1400 – 1800 – COOK DINNER/RUN ERRANDS

1800 – 1900 – EAT

1900 – CLEAN UP

 

“This was nice of him,” you say, as you set the schedule down to take a picture of it on your phone.

 

“Good idea,” he says, “Commander Reyes is very punctual, so keep it close.”

 

“I will, thank you. So, on Mondays and Thursdays we meet?” you ask, already beginning to organize a few thoughts and schedules of your own.

 

Thao nods, “We will meet and talk about what our next nutrition goals are. Mostly, they don’t change, but we do aim to keep our friends in the best shape possible, in mind and body. It is integral to my personal beliefs on health, if you’re willing to hear them.”

 

Thao has been nothing but a homie so far, so you encourage him, “I’m interested!”

 

“I started in the medical field because, well, I was a fool. I thought I knew everything: that there was one, healthy way to live, and it didn’t involve folk medicine, alcohol, late nights… I doubled in psychology and soon realized I was full of shit. Dr. O’Deorain and I both hold the philosophy that good health is about far more than optimizing biological processes.

 

“I tell you this, because I want you to come to us for anything and everything. We are in a war right now, and your chances of survival are highest if you are in good health,” he can tell you’re disturbed by the implication, “I also do not want you to think I am going to micromanage your menus. Of course, not fried food at every meal, but I am not worried about people who train this much getting too many calories. I only ask for protein and vegetables at every meal.”

 

“That’s definitely doable,” you say.

 

“Your attitude is admirable. I can tell you’re gonna be fine,” he says with a warm smile, and in that moment, you were sure you’d take a bullet for this man, “So I will show you where we keep all the vehicles and then we will go to the grocery store. In the mean time, do you have any questions?”

 

Yes in fact, you have approximately 8.2 million of them. Mops, ordering, privacy, allergies, preferences, flexibility, all of it came up. The doctor is very thorough and patient in answering, even reassuring you that you were not annoying him (you’d take _two_ bullets for him), but when he parks at Tesco he politely interrupts you with a question.

 

“Do you want to know anything about any of the _members_?”

 

Is this is a test, to see if you gossip? In that case you better not say anything, and yetthe possibility of a hazing ritual wasn’t off-the-table either. You don’t want to act like a greenhorn goody two-shoes, so you shoot for a safe topic.

 

“What happened to the other two cooks?”

 

“Gary was first cook, waaayyy back when we formed. I joined shortly after that. He breached confidentiality. We were sad to see him go, but I couldn’t disagree with Commander’s decision because it… wasn’t a small slip,” Thao explains.

 

“That sucks,” you say frankly.

 

“The other guy,” Thao scoffs, “He was an ass. To hell with him.”

 

“What’d he do?”

 

“Eh...” Thao says, “Nothing? Complained a lot, I guess. Very lazy, skipped training all the time. Commander threw him out six months ago, and since then we’ve been on our own.”

 

Rookie mistake. Always keep you suffering to yourself and your head down in the kitchen. You say, “I’m glad to help again, and I don’t plan to repeat their mistakes.”

 

“Do not worry. I can tell you have common sense. Besides, Commander Reyes likes you.”

 

“I hope I can stay on good terms with him.”

 

Thao glances over and realizes you’re completely oblivious to the reality Blackwatch knew: Gabe hired you from his heart, not his head. Ignoring the implication, he replies, “I think you’ll manage. I’ll always be on your side, and Nadège is a good roommate, I’ve heard. Jesse likes you, too.”

 

“Is Jesse… the cowboy?” you say, to refresh your memory.

 

“Yes, and he flirts with everyone, just so you know. I am married, my youngest child is twenty, and he will _still_ flirt with me. Shameless,” he says, “but, he’s great to have on a recon mission, or in the battlefield.”

 

You nod, but have little response to that.

 

He doesn’t want to leave it on a negative note and goes on, “All of them, really, when things get serious, I wouldn’t want anyone else at my side. I worked for years as a field medic, worked with Overwatch, in the finest hospitals. I would truly want no one else at my back when the Crisis is at my door. We may be dysfunctional, but we come together when it matters most.”

 

Thao realizes that came off as even more grim, and changes the subject, “Do you have any other questions?”

 

“I don’t want to be rude,” you say plainly, hoping that in itself wasn’t rude.

 

“Nor do I,” he quips back, “But some things can prevent early disputes.”

 

“What kind of things?” you say.

 

“Well, for instance, the one whose birthday you are preparing. He is uncomfortable with his extensive prosthesis and artificial lungs. Very, very self conscious. So when you speak to him, do avoid bringing up anyone or thing’s appearance. He is sometimes… explosive,” the doctor says.

 

“Good to know...” you say, anxiously, “What does he like to eat?”

 

Thao shakes his head, “It’s unfortunate, really. He isn’t very talkative, and Dr. O’Deorain is his primary physician, so I don’t know. He talks about traditional Japanese foods sometimes, but I think it’s primarily because he misses home.”

 

Homesick. You get that. You already miss your old kitchen, your old crew, the dishwasher that worked, the drawers that were organized, the whiskey was hidden in the very corner of the walk-in… You’re very aware of the pressure you’re putting on yourself, and you’re not sure if you can do this, but you’re certainly going to try because you could use a little vindication these days.

 

Back at the base, Gerard sits on top of the floating freight dolly that slowly carts your things to the Blackwatch HQ. There’s a reason Gabriel asked him to tag along, but the commander hasn’t spoken yet. They are nearing H-5, so the Frenchman speaks, “I know Overwatch packed her stuff, but we could peak...”

 

“No,” Gabe says, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“Yeah,” the man crosses his legs as Gabe walks beside the cart, “You could find pictures of her boyfriend, or something.”

 

“When else was an experienced cook with military clearances that could start right now going to drop into my lap?” Gabe snaps, flushing that he had used _that_ idiom, “We haven’t had a mission in a month and there still isn’t enough time to be conducting interviews.”

 

“Which is why you didn’t, according to Amélie,” Gerard says, but sensing the rising heat in Gabe’s head, he redirects the statement, “I think it’ll be fine. A cook is a cook, and you are good at molding people to your purpose.”

 

Even in a compliment he’s insulting Gabe, but Gerard was always so insightful to his exact nature. Gabe’s reply is equally sincere, “I need to ask you a personal favor, though.”

 

Gerard sits up, “Qu’est-ce?”

 

“If I let my… interest in her compromise the team in any way, I will tell her how I feel.”

 

“Which implies two things. You have no intentions of telling her how you feel, and that I am to enforce this in some way. Okay then, I give you three strikes. That’s very American, no?”

 

“Don’t give me even one,” Gabe sputters.

 

“Oh, you can tell her after one, but I _will_ tell her at three. I’ll warn you though, you’ll regret not telling her yourself.”

 

Gabe shakes his head, “It’s not gonna get that far. She might not even last more than a week, for one. For two, it is not going to go that far.”

 

“Love lays waste to the best laid plans,” Gerard quips.

 

“Love?!” Gabe is completely flushed, “I’ve known her for two days!”

 

Yes, but that hadn’t stopped him from signing a contract with you had it? Amélie had also told him how Gabe’s eyes trailed over your body, and he had seen it for himself today. Love/Like, that was semantics, because everyone could tell Gabe was head-over-heels for you. Everyone, that is, except you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> I hope there's just one other cook reading this please. If you're out there, let's be friends and you can help me study for my Servsafe which is up in October :(


	3. The First Op

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing leads to another, and now you're in charge of an op!

Even if you did bust your ass to prepare this wonderful smorgasbord of sushi and other sides, your aching muscles and head sympathize with eating like you’re in prison, quickly, silently. Hardly anyone talks at these meals, though everyone was making their opinion of you clear.

 

Dr. Nguyen, always kind, occasionally humorous, and constantly saying “Don’t take it personally; they’re just like that”, flashes you a thumbs up as he polishes off the last roll and reaches for another orange. He’s been nothing but supportive, unlike his medical partner on his right. Dr. O’Deorain uses hair nails like tweezers to pluck each individual piece from the plate and examine it like a specimen.

 

“ _I cut that from the same roll as the last piece_ _you ate_ _, so you can chill_ ,” you think.

 

When Nadège told you at lunch that she would not eat any raw fish, you were initially surprised. However, now you respect that she was upfront, unlike the other sniper. You now understand why Amélie is so skinny; she’s pickier than most children. Everything is too spicy, too salty, too rich, or best of all, tasteless. You never thought about how great it was to not watch people eat your food. Now cute married couple give you overly polite smiles; you’ll hear the titter in the weight room tomorrow.

 

And you won’t even say anything because while you chump ass is doing lunges with the five pound weights, Commander Reyes is squatting three hundred like it ain’t _shit_. He eats absolutely everything and anything left on the table, constantly making you worry that you haven’t made enough food. Yet despite his voracious appetite, he is _cut…_ Although he rarely didn’t wear a hoodie.

 

Seeing how you and commander are at each end of the table, you need to keep your ogling to a minimum, which brings your attention to Jesse McCree. For all his flirtatious jokes about “eating”, he has been steadily slipping rolls from his plate and into his pocket. You say steadily and not stealthily because he filled his pocket five minutes ago and now the destroyed rolls are dripping on the floor. That you have to clean.Because it’s always the asshole coworker that hits on you.

 

Never someone like Shreya, who eats everything put in front of her, regardless of whether or not she likes it. Sure, she’s not exactly shy about her facial expression, but she never says anything about it, at least. Besides she was much more relaxed because there were three empty seats next to her instead of just two. The tenth member of Blackwatch and the birthday boy, Genji isn’t here at all.

 

The commander made a point to inform you that Genji had been welcome to join dinner despite the incident at the gym. “Incident in the gym” made it seem like a ruckus at most, not the full on debacle that it really was…

 

Genji insisted that he be allowed to select his training partner for the day. Commander might be strict, but he saw no fault in the idea. Yesterday, during the team rope climbing, you and Nadège only had to climb half as much as the other four pairs, so being selected did not surprise you.

 

Today’s lesson was also Genji’s choice, reversals and throws. Like judo. Which you may have studied at one point, but sure as fuck not like Genji. He’d stand very, very still, and then bam, you were on the mat, or in the air and then on the mat.

 

After Genji knocked the wind out of you for the second time, Commander Reyes told him, “Let’s take it down a level”. Despite the calm and reasonable request, Gabe pauses Moira and watches the next set with narrowed eyes. You can feel the tension, but there’s nothing more to do than stand up and try again.

 

Next thing you know, you’re on the floor, and Genji is choking you. Actually, looking back, you’re pretty sure he was flat out trying to crush your esophagus, butin an instant, Gabe is there. Genji is quick, but Gabe has the reach and force to snatch him by the arm and slamhim into the bare floor so hard, you screamed because you thought commander had killed him.

 

“Boo.”

 

You practically jump out of your seat as Genji slides into his. He was completely unharmed by the entire event, and now wears a look like he’s ready to bolt at any moment.

 

“Let me get your plate,” you say quickly, taking your own empty plate with you.

 

Once you disappear, Genji ask, “What has the gaijin made for us?” while he tries to spy on Amélie’s mostly intact plate.

 

“Spam,” Amélie replies dryly.

 

Thao chimes in. “All of it is quite lovely. Do you know that she bought this fish at two AM? She got up before all of us to get it.”

 

“This morning?” Gerard asks.

 

“She is very dedicated,” the doctor adds, “Really, I think you will enjoy it,  
Sâu Bướm!” He says that because Genji is still wearing his visor, usually a sign he had no intentions of eating anything in front of him, more content to smash in a vending machine and loot it for Cheetos instead.

 

Even a hard ass like Genji couldn’t be mad at the doctor and mutters back, “I will try it for you, Kiến.” as his visor lifts.

 

“Thank you!” Thao chirps back and Moira smiles as well. Gabe says nothing, even when you come back with a big plate filled with more goodies than Genji could shake a sword at. The birthday boy was impressed with your work as anyone else, but like everyone else, he tries to play it off: “Gimme the rundown.”

 

 

For probably the sixth time tonight, you explain the plate: “So we have tuna, spicy tuna, California rolls, shrimp, eel, scrambled egg, Spam, and these two rolls are vegetarian. One is all veggies and the other is cream cheese and veggies.Also, you don’t have to finish it all tonight. I can box it up so you have it for snacks for later.”

 

He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t even blinked. You keep talking to fill in the awkwardness: “I baked you two cakes, by the way. I made you the raindrop cake like you asked for, but I thought you might want something sweet so I have sponge cakeroll…” You shy away back to your seat, but still mumble, “I made you an extra one that you can have all to yourself.”

 

As you glance around the table, you realize that everyone is stunned by the extra mile. In truth, you baked the cake yesterday so you could roll it today. It was less of an act of forgiveness and more like “fuck it, I’m not wasting it”, but they don’t know that.

 

“Thank you,” Genji says quietly, adding “Itadakimasu.” before digging in.

 

“Yeah, thanks for everything,” Gabe says with a nod. “This is great. I can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”

 

“Thank you!” you gush with a smile that could melt his heart. Now if he could just imagine there’s not all these other chairs separating the two of you, a little mood lighting-

 

“So, I want your opinion on a matter,” Gerard says, which always immediately proceeds Gerard starting shit.

 

You don’t know that, though, naively answering, “Yeah, sure.”

 

“What do you think of the soldiers not maintaining their own headquarters…? Outsourcing and whatnot.”

 

And Amélie nods because she too wants start shit. Gabe chugs his water and hopes for the best.

 

“They say that if we do these things, laundry, cooking, cleaning, then the soldiers can do more… soldier things.”

 

Gerard quips, “That is what the commander calls a canned answer. And the commander will tell anyone, Blackwatch does not do canned answers.”

 

Gabe tries to save _some_ face: “The idea is that you don’t want to be giving answers just because it’s polite or what someone wants to hear. You have to say ‘No, that’s a stupid idea’ if I say some stupid shit, and trust me… I will say some stupid shit.”

 

“So back to my husband’s question,” Amélie presses, “Shouldn’t the soldiers do their own chores?”

 

“I wouldn’t have a job if they did, so no, they shouldn’t. When they do it on disciplinary detail, that is enough.”

 

“Enough? What’s ‘enough’ supposed to mean?” she retorts, having come through the Overwatch rank-and-file like Gabe.

 

“These aren’t the Reinhardts of Overwatch; these are the assholes that sleep in and drink on the job, so don’t take it personally.”

 

“Oh I don’t,” Jesse replies nonchalantly, “but them? I dunno, I think you picked the wrong side of that argument.”

 

Which only makes you defensive: “They’ll sabotage your whole recipe because they know you’ll get frustrated and just send them to ‘clean the break room’.”

 

“How can you be sure it was sabotage?” Gerard says, “People make mistakes. You make mistakes…”

 

“You don’t understand. You don’t just grab the shit from the cooler anymore. There’s a whole requisition system that gets exact quantities of ingredients for you. Which doesn’t make it impossible to add sugar to one hundred pounds of mac and cheese, but it does make it improbable.

 

“To be fair, you _can_ get more stuff yourself, but that sugar you ‘thought was salt’? That was in a bin that says SUGAR in big letters across the front in nine different language and literally says ‘SUGAR’ in your native language when you open the lid? With the scoop that says SUGAR on it, and the put in into a Cambro container that automatically identifies the contents and weight, as ‘SUGAR 673 G’. And that’s an exact figure, by the way, because you see, it added that sugar to _my,_ _personal_ expense audit, and I got lectured about it for twelve minutes of my life!

 

“So to recap, this was because I told her she had to wear gloves, even though she washed her hands. Just so we’re all clear. She purposefully sabotaged my recipe because someone told her she had to wear gloves _in a kitchen!_ ”

 

Nadège waits for you to catch your breath before asking, “You good?”

 

“Better now that’s off my chest.”

 

“All that wasted food…” Amélie mutters.

 

“Oh no, we totally served it,” you scoff, “We did what we could and then mixed it with the other batches so it wouldn’t be noticeable. That was… an operation…”

 

“Funny you should mention an op, because that’s just what I had in mind,” Gabe says.

 

“An op? Like a… Blackwatch op?” you ask, looking around to find another confused face, but it seems like a perfectly normal idea to everyone else.

 

“Sure,” Gabe says, “This would be a great opportunity for you to lead your first op. It’s a safe option, doesn’t have to be off the grid-”

 

“Did you say _lead_ the op?” you interject.

 

Jesse is happy to explain: “Every member of Blackwatch has a specialty, whether it be sharpshooting, doctoring, or leading. But every member needs to be able to perform every role in any given situation.” Jesse turns to his left and smiles at his commander, “How’s that for a canned response, Boss Man?”

 

Gabe ignores that last part and goes back to you, “You’re the one with the most expertise about the back end of this base, so you should plan it.”

 

Nadège clarifies: “Not that you can’t ask for help.”

 

“In fact,” Gerard adds, “A leader should always ask for help.”

 

“I’ll decide one thing for you,” the commander offers. “We’ll execute this operation on Monday night. Other than that, you call the shots.”

 

You look to Thao and he smiles, although you can tell he hopes you don’t pick him. Your gaze shifts to your roommate, and Nadège offers, “Former Colonel of the Carribean Coalition, Nadège LeRoux, reporting for duty.”

 

“Wonderful!” you say, “I’ll go get dessert!”

 

\- - -

 

After dinner, Gabriel had hoped to catch up on e-mails alone, but that would be too easy. Gerard was his second-in-command, but Gabe was too tired for the unsolicited advice that came when the Frenchman enters silently, seats himself, and simply waits. If it was anything important, he would be direct and immediate, but since this wasn’t a pressing matter, Gerard could play defense.

 

“Out with it,” Gabe insists, as he jots down a note from a message.

 

“Bon soir à toi, aussi.”

 

“No hablas francés.”

 

“Dinner went surprisingly well,” Gerard says. “How did she afford that on our budget?”

 

“I asked the same thing,” Gabe answers, “She explained her methods of stretching a dollar and it checks out.”

 

“And those methods were...?”

 

“Adequate and appropriate.”

 

“So… stiff!” Gerard cackles at his own double entendre. Gabe, unamused, ignores that remark entirely, forcing Gerard to be much more direct: “I know you’re disappointed she didn’t select you to help her with her first operation.”

 

“Nadège is an excellent leader.”

 

“I suppose, though, you’re relieved that you can maintain your distance from her. I suppose you cannot accumulate any strikes if you don’t come to bat.”

 

“I haven’t been avoiding her. I just want her to work with everyone equally.”

 

“You know Assessment is coming up.”

 

“Consider me informed.”

 

“And the lowest tier soldier will be paired with the highest for most of Assessment. As a new member, she is automatically ranked tenth. You two will spend two _whole_ days side-by-side.”

 

“Let’s worry about things like that after the op.”

 

\- - -

 

“Alright, can you hear us?” Gerard says.

 

“Yes,” you reply quietly.

 

“Don’t worry, darling, you’re still by yourself out there in the open,” Jesse calls back.

 

“So one last run through,” Gabe explains. “You’ve already told your coworkers that you’re a private chef for the high command, so it’s not a stretch that you could potentially pick up a shift. Your badge and password are the same as before.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The small clip in your hair has the audio and visual element in it. There’s a scrambler in your pocket, as big as a tube of lipstick. It’s unlikely anyone will notice you’re transmitting, but if they did, that will hide the signal.”

 

“Right.”

 

“All you have to do is observe a bad soldier behaving badly. You don’t even need to be in the room, just serve as a witness in the event of a court martial.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Lady, we got company coming in,” Jesse calls out, “Curtain opens in three, two...”

 

“Oh my God!”

 

You’re tackled by a hug from behind and the lift let’s you know it’s gotta be Sheila. Once you’re on the floor, you turn to her and squeeze her tight. You get one shift back and it looks like you’re paired with your work bestie.

 

“How have you been?” she asks, “I heard you got caught outside! And now you’re cooking for Commander Morrison!? Only you!!”

 

“Well, his guests, at least. Although, there’s guests pretty much every day.”

 

“That’s so cool! Talk about landing in a dream job!”

 

“It has its ups and downs,” you say.

 

>”Aw… You don’t like us?” Jesse coos.

 

>”No chatter,” Gabe insists.

 

To get into the cafeteria, you first had to go through an airlock of sorts. Inside was the time clock. You need an ID, a fingerprint, and a PIN to get inside, which made punching in a pain in the ass.

 

“So how’s it been with you?” you ask as Sheila scans her card.

 

“Out of my way!” a man shouts.

 

“¡¿Que?!” she cries out as she’s shoved into you. Sheila immediately starts arguing with the soldier, “I already scanned! You’re just gonna have to wait!”

 

“Hurry up!”

 

>”Jesus Christ that was fast,” Gabe says. “I’m on my way. Make sure your friend doesn’t get into it with him or I’ll have to take her too.”

 

You’re not sure if she’s trembling with nervousness or rage, but the system rejects her fingerprint. She’s frustrated, and now fights with the man to get her card in the reader first.

 

“Clocking in has precedence over clocking out!” Sheila says. It’s not just courtesy, people have gotten fired for it; the rules of coming and going around this base are extremely strict for civilians and missteps here take more people out of here than drinking and fighting combined.  


>”I told Jack this kid had a temper, but I thought it was only when he was out in the field,” Gabe says, grimly thinking, “ _So this kid is a civilian-abusing-sociopath, and he got into the best military in the world...”_

 

After much shoving, Sheila manages to dip her card again, and now the system flawlessly accepts her intake. You realize it’s round two, now you gotta fight this guy to get in, or you’ll get fired all over again. You go for the dive, and make it, but you don’t have a good angle to actually swipe your card. The man grabs your arm, and then the outside door to the airlock opens.

 

Both of you look over and see Commander Reyes’ menacing stare, burning into the soldier. He strides over to the man and grabs him by the back of the shirt.

 

“Well, there’s a uniform violation,” Gabe remarks as the collar doesn’t choke the man. You pretty sure this guy is a little taller, but commander handles him like a rag doll.

 

“See that?” the commander says, swiveling the man towards an upper corner of the room. “Smile! You’re on camera, and I have two witnesses to an assault. You’ll be lucky if they don’t sue.” He narrows his eyes and growls, “Your parents are gonna be so proud of you when they find out you got kicked out of Overwatch for assaulting a civilian.”

 

At that moment the outside door opens, and Xingxang appears, taking one step in before freezing, leaving the door open.

 

“You see that?” Gabe asks, pointing to a building in the distance, “That’s Commander Morrison’s office, _right there_. But… I think we’re gonna take the scenic route.”

 

And with that, Gabe walks the man back into the kitchen, where the only other exit was out to the cafeteria.

 

“Holy shit!” Xingxang gasps as he remembers to step inside. “First you’re back and then Commander Reyes shows up and bounces a soldier? Today is already shaping up to be exciting!”

 

“Hurry up and punch in so we can see the parade!”

 

Both in, you enter the building, and Sheila is already waiting. The first place anyone reports in the Requisition Computer, which assigns tasks for the day, and conveniently, is the same path Gabe is taking with the shamed soldier.

 

Finally, you’re obliged to peel off, and everyone is all to wise to keep their mouths shut. For now at least.

 

“Pancake Prep, hell yeah!” Sheila says.

 

You scan your ID, and report “I should’ve known I’d be on truck.”

 

“Aw…” Xingxang coos from the other station, “I was hoping you would be on sauce prep with me.”

 

“It would’ve been wonderful!” you gush.

 

>“Notice how her voice is pitched higher, as a sign of sexual arousal,” Moira comments dryly.

 

>”Chatter!” Gabe barks, “Also, not appropriate!”

 

>”Since when are you the pure?”

 

>”Still not appropriate! I will mute mics!” Gabe says, still escorting the soldier, who is very confused to hear a one-sided operation.

 

You slunk off long ago, mortified by Moira’s observation. You can’t help it; that was your first kiss when you arrived on Gibraltar and you’ll never forget it. Luckily, the freezer would cool you down.

 

“Baby, I was getting cold in this freezer, but now you are here,” Khenan shouts as he jumps down. “They crazy, putting a Jamaican into the freezer, but now I see why, because I overheat around you!”

 

Some things never get old. You know he sweet talks all the ladies, but he always genuinely means it, so you never complain. Plus, Khenan was super in shape, so he gave the _best_ hugs, although… You wonder if commander would be better.

 

“ _Not appropriate,_ ” his voice rings in your head. You need to focus on boxes of frozen peas, not comparing your new crush to your old.

 

Gabe, having just left Jack’s office, announces over the headset, “Alright, we got our man, and we made an example out of him. Shut it down.”

 

>“No, no,” Amélie says, “This is quite _interessant_ …”

 

>“I like this one better because he smiles more,” Nadège adds.

 

>Moira adds, “I suppose my vote is automatically on Sheila, then.”

 

>“We’re going to make her nervous if we pressure her like this,” Thao comments.

 

>“Chatter on the mic, people!” Gabe barks. “I’m remotely muting all mics, and when I get back to HQ, I’m cutting the visual feed.”

 

You spent the next five hours in peace, but not privacy; Gabe should’ve known better than to expect anything less.

 

“Commander,” Moira posits from the other side of the locked door, “Think of this as a training exercise.”

 

“Moira, you owe me so much. Let me _in!_ ”

 

“You know he’s desperate when he’s begging Moira for mercy and reason,” Gerard comments.

 

Gabe presses his hand to the door. It’s solid steel and firm; even a super soldier couldn’t take it down without serious injury.

 

“Commander,” Genji calls.

 

Gabe has to step back to see where Genji is, on thin ledge about the room, likely nothing more than a metal cover over some wires. Hanging on his left thumb is a ring, and on it hangs a key. The moment Gabe moves, Genji takes off. With a sigh, Gabe chases after, supposing he would have to play Shimada’s game.

 

Except that when Gabe finally pins Genji down… Genji doesn’t even have it.

 

“Nadège,” Genji says with a smile.

 

If catching up to Genji was difficult, finding Nadège when she didn’t want to be found was impossible. This was a big base, and likely, she was nested in a spot even Genji wouldn’t think of. Why did his team have to be like this?

 

At hour five, Gabe had found Nadège, who also didn’t have the key anymore. Now, he had to find _Jesse_ , who was likely mingling with the civilian staff, trying to sneak drinks and joints in wherever he could. Being a commander, there was a lot of fuss when he was around the civilians, so he would have to move unseen through the overcrowded apartments.

 

The team back at base, where Genji and Nadège have returned, finally figured out how to turn on just two mics. Of course, they’re going to turn on yours. It hadn’t been nearly as thrilling to watch without sound. Shreya is making steady progress though, and she races to figure out the rest.

 

It startles you, to hear someone when you assumed Gabe had shut it off, but you ignore it and focus on the conversation at hand.

 

“You should really stay,” Mbao says as she smiles, “I just got here and I haven’t gotten enough time with you!”

 

“Plus, we could really use the help,” Sheila adds.

 

“I dunno,” you answer, “I’m kind of tired.”

 

Suddenly, there is a cheer, as everyone’s mic cuts on at once. Startled, you almost fall over as Moira calls out, “I’d like to change my vote.”

 

“Maybe you should go home,” Sheila mutters.

 

“No, no, I’m good,” you answer.

 

>Gabe interjects, “If you stay, you won’t have to run tomorrow.”

 

“If you stay, I stay,” Xingxang offers.

 

“I’ll do it,” you say immediately in response to Gabe’s offer, but sounding much more like you wanted to be around your crush. Everyone was on board, and put the two of you on the same station for the night, saucing wings until your arms were ready to fall off from all the tossing.

 

Tossing thirty kilos of wings at a time was usually exhausting, but you’re in better shape now, even after such a short time of working out. That being said, by hour two, you’ve shed your white jacket, wearing just a tank top now. Pans were starting to stack up, and things were quickly falling apart but you pushed on the best you could.

 

Gabe had gotten smart this time. Sure, he could take Jesse’s advice, and search the labs for Moira, who’s not even allowed to go there, but he heard Nadège’s cheer on the radio. Of course they’re going to go back to the headquarters, that was the only place there was a visual feed. Jesse is dumb enough to put in headphones, and ignore the possibility that Gabe follows him back. When he comes to the door, he gives the secret knock.

 

Three things happened simultaneously. The first was that you brushed your hair out of your face, knocking the clip so the camera was now looking straight down your shirt. The second was that the door opened, and the third was that Gabe came crashing in, already furious _before_ he saw the screen.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!” Gabe yells over the mic.

 

“I swear it just-”

 

“I DON’T CARE WHAT-” and the rest is a cacophony of crashing chairs and shouts. There’s a long pause and Gabe comes back: “I’m sorry about that. Communications terminating for the night. Commander Reyes, over and out.”

 

\- - -

 

Fourth meal went until one AM. Accounting for one hour of clean-up, you should be done at two. It is now three.

 

Gabe contemplates turning the communications back on, but he shouldn’t spy on you. This rules are looser in Blackwatch, and besides, Gabe isn’t a regular commander, he’s a _cool_ commander. Although, he _is_ a commander, and he should at least ping your location and check on the situation. That’s what he would do normally, and there’s nothing about how he acts around you that is anything but normal. That’s why he puts cologne on before he sets off. Yep, just a totally routine pick-up of an AWOL soldier.

 

“It’s so nice to have you back,” Xingxang says.

 

You reply, “Thank you.”

 

“My heart broke when I thought I’d never see you again…”

 

Gabe had hoped to catch a glimpse of the mystery man, but he got a sight that stoked even more jealousy, your enraptured gaze. He’s frozen in the shadows, heart racing as he decides what to do because he should break it up, but you seem so happy, but it will crush him to see another man kiss you, and the guy is gonna kiss you-

 

And then, out of the peripheral on Gabe’s hearing, he recognizes a very distinct sound: Genji’s feet on Gibraltar rooftops. He turns around and sees the man perched on an edge, pointing to his own visor, reminding Gabe that there is a camera tucked inside of it. This won’t be Genji’s first attempt to blackmail his commander either because you can take the boy out of the yakuza, but you can’t take the yakuza out of the boy.Genji was likely still recording, so Gabe had to make a move now.

 

“It’s after hours people, let’s move,” Gabe calls out. Xingxang scrambles off into his apartment, and you rush to Commander Reyes’ side without a single word

 

The walk back to Blackwatch base is quiet, Gabe unable to speak because your hand brushed against his. He’s way too old to get flustered about something so minor, a thought which only makes him more worked up as he thinks about actually holding your hand.

 

Meanwhile, back in real life, Assessment started in less than twelve hours. He would be working with you one-on-one for most of the day tomorrow, in close quarters. Gabe’s not sure if he’ll survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, esp if you waited patiently for chapter three, bless your heart!
> 
> I am no longer a cook! I hated being a cook so much, it made writing this lowkey stressful. Now it's not, and I can go back to writing cute Gabe being jealous and melting over you. Also, I think there's a plot somewhere in there.
> 
> I wrote this whole backstory for Nadège about the West Indies Militia, which was super similar to the idea that they had for the Carribean Coalition, so I used their idea. It's neat when they release new info and it doesn't ruin my fanfiction, and hella validating when it's like "that's what i was already thinking!!!!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> This is basically a vent piece about how much I hate my job. Also I promise slow burn for real this time because this story is about s u f f e r i n g just like my job!! To my fellow cooks out there, stay strong.


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